Note to self: Speed is not survival. Timing is survival.” “I stole bread today. From an old woman’s cellar. She wasn’t there—maybe dead, maybe fled. I left three cans of beans in exchange, but that’s not the point. The point is: I have become someone who takes.
A Record of Delia’s War is now held in the National Archive of Civilian Testimonies. It is not required reading. But it should be. a record of delia's war
I am not brave. I am just here. And I have a pen. Note to self: Speed is not survival
Tonight I found a child. Three years old. Wandering near the old tram depot. No name. No note. Just a stuffed rabbit with one ear. I carried her for six hours until an old man said he knew her grandmother. The grandmother was dead. But the neighbor took her anyway. She wasn’t there—maybe dead, maybe fled
Signing off. Delia Rojas, Archivist of the Ashes.” The metal box was found in 2189 during the reconstruction of the Meridian Cultural District. The oak tree had grown around it. Inside: the ledger, the children’s book Goodnight Moon , and a rusty spoon with a bent handle.
What follows are selected entries. They have been lightly edited for clarity, but the roughness—the fear, the hunger, the fury—remains. “The shelf is still warm. Not from sunlight. From the fire two blocks away. I’m sitting in the children’s section—or what’s left of it. ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ is ash. But ‘Goodnight Moon’ survived. I’m holding it. That feels like a sign.